Lesson Plans
by Indigo2831
Summary: Trials Fic, post "Taxi Driver." Sam and Dean are trying to fulfill the promises they made when Sam undertook The Trials. Dean gets creative; Sam gets sneaky. Brother bonding and angst abound. Super loose companion piece to my story to "The Brother Cure."


Back again! The trials arc is the plot that keeps giving babies. I still have a ton of half-finished stories, and I was so glad I found and finished this one! It's a very loose companion piece to "The Brother Cure." I'm not great at writing humor, but hopefully some parts will make you chuckle. Let me know what you think!

I can't believe it's only Day 139 of the hellatus. It's going to be a looooooooooong summer.

* * *

**Lesson Plans**

Sam wished he had the energy to sabotage the Batcave's blistering wi-fi.

He gagged, covering his mouth before he threw up what little food he'd managed to choke down. The root spray—one of Dean's many cures—tasted like moldering leaves, some sort of pungent chemical and inexplicably, smoked fish. Grimacing, he flashed Dean his most pathetic of expressions. "I beg of you to stop this."

Dean ignored him, and sorted through the myriad of supplements, vitamins, stimulants and powders that had covered the library's main table. "One more thing, Sam." He extracted some syringes out of the mess.

Sam snagged a nearby bottle of water and gargled with it, trying to scour the taste from his mouth. "No, Dean, I'm done being your guinea pig."

"It's cute you think you have a choice. Stop me and I'll leave you alone. "Dean regarded him with serious eyes as he put on the latex gloves. "You're getting weaker, Sam. You're not admitting it, but I can tell."

Of course it was then that his legs decided to buckle and his head dissolved into a plume of dizzying static. He stumbled, catching himself on the table. Dean's cinching grip on his arm may have helped too. "That settles it. Bend over."

He acquiesced, bracing himself against the table and pulling down the left hip of is well-worn sweats to expose the top of his left buttock. He thought he was handling the turmoil from the trials well. He was pushing through the best he could, but even Sam, the boy with the demon blood who'd been ear-marked by Lucifer, still had some dignities left. And the blazing fevers from the trials were quickly burning it away.

"You said these helped right? They gave you a little more strength?" Dean hedged. Sam didn't need to be facing him to know how desperately hopeful he was. It saturated every word.

"Yeah, a little."

"Good, 'cause you're getting three." Dean announced.

Sam barely had time to brace himself before he was jabbed with the needles. He yelped, banging a fist on the table. "No more internet for you!"

"Don't worry, Sammy, your precious internets didn't betray you. I discovered the magic of the B12 in 'Us Weekly.' It's got everything, Sammy. I now know what product to use to cure my oily T-zone. I found a recipe for Gwyneth Paltrow's fat-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, meat-free, taste-free lasagna, which would be great for my next dinner party for Crowley...and I know everything about Amanda Bynes' Breakdown. On the Britney Scale of Trainwrecks, she's about a 6, so there's hope," Dean said with a mischievous smile.

Sam leveled him with a massive sourface.

"Zoe Saldana was on the cover, dude. Cut me some slack."

There was a silly mirth flickering in his eyes that Sam hadn't seen in months, and something more than the B12, the St. John's Wort, the root spray, the ginger shots and the 9,000 other vitamins he was taking gave him a surge of energy. He stood up as straight as he could. "Let's go out."

"What? Sam, no. You still have to soak in the spearmint oil."

"And smell like a Doublemint twin for another week, no thanks. Let's get dinner and go see a movie. 'Iron Man 3' just started...explosions, snark...come on."

Dean was tempted, Sam could see it. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "I think the B12 is kickin' in." Dean's Big Brother duties were warring with his love of all things superhero but Sam already knew he'd won.

"The second you start to feel off or hork up a blood clot, we're leavin', okay?"

"You're steerin' the boat, man," Sam offered with a grin.

-SPN-

The stirrings of the idea that hit him as he got dressed became fully realized until they were walking to the diner and passed a restaurant/bar brimming with people and energy and life. Sam snagged Dean's arm and quirked his head. "In here."

Dean glanced at the bar with a flippant, dismissive shift of the eyes. "Nah, the diner's good. It's too loud in there, Sam, you're gonna get a headache."

That little remark, the big brother coddling that had basically kept him going for the last few weeks, was suddenly irksome and patronizing. Sam turned on his heel and headed into the bar, knowing Dean would follow.

Inside, it crackled with energy and noise and color. The walls were limned with neon lights; the bar was stocked from floor to ceiling with liquor, and women were everywhere, in all flavors, colors and shapes. They were seated at booth near the back near a bank of pool tables. He was grateful for Dean's sunglasses as they kept the light from searing his eyes. Instead, they just burned a little.

Dean barely looked at their hottie of a waitress, because he was too busy fussing over Sam, making sure he ordered something light in deference to his volatile stomach and that his water didn't have too much ice. When he barked at the waitress because the chef had slathered his mashed potatoes in gravy, Sam snapped. He apologized to the waitress, ordered two shots of alcohol and refused to speak until they arrived. "Dean, seriously, give me one night. I just want to have fun. Pretend I'm not sick. Pretend we're just two guys in a bar on a Friday night."

"I just want to make sure you're okay...it's been a rough few weeks for you."

"I get it, man, I do, but I'm going to start throwin' punches if you don't relax. I'm still the same badass I used to be. Now let's just play pool and relax."

"Ha! I'm the resident badass, Sammy. You're just the overgrown sidekick." Dean bit his bottom lip and shook his head, surrendering by taking his untouched shot of whiskey. "I'll break."

"You always do."

Sam wasn't sure if it was the trash-talking, their blatant show-boating, or Dean steadying Sam when he lined up his shots even while calling him a "deep-fried bitch" but he noticed two women riveted by their show. Both of them were wearing their what Bobby often called their "plumage"—bright colors, sequins and lots of skin and eyeliner. One was a brunette covered in freckles with hazel eyes, and the other had light features and skin with pin-straight red hair. The latter smiled when Sam looked in her direction and maintained eye contact. It was a deceptively simple move, one that told Sam she was forward enough to engage but waiting for him to make the first step. He headed back to the table, purposely bumping Dean to destroy his easy shot, and proceeded to the bar. He wedged himself into a slip of space next to the girl in the purple shorts and flagged down the bartender. "Can I get one beer, another club and cran with a twist of lime, and two Cosmos for these beautiful ladies right here?"

"It took you long enough," she yelled over the pumping bass. She turned to the bartender. "You can keep the Cosmos. I'll have a martini, dirty, and she'll have a Jack and Coke."

Sam nodded in concession and handed the bartender the cash. "That was a test," he said with a grin.

"Did I pass?"

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her ear, a hand to her forearm. "Flying colors and a gold star."

She smiled, tossing her long flat-ironed hair over her shoulder. "I'm Mia and this is...Antonia."

"Toni," she corrected as she accepted her drink. Mia's friend stepped closer to him, extending her hand. The proximity brought her beauty into focus. She was all high, refined cheekbones and dazzling hazel eyes. "And you are?"

"Sam. My name is Sam."

A waitress side-stepped the group with a fleeting grimace of irritation. "You and your boyfriend are really cute, Sam."

He smiled again, unbothered. "Dean's my brother. My very overprotective big brother," he supplied. "I'll take the cute part, though."

Toni nudged her friend with her elbow. "I told you!" She looped her arm through Sam's and lead him back to their table. "Next round is on Mia!"

"So what's he protecting you from?" Mia asked, frowning at Toni as she flipped through the appetizer menu. "You said he was overprotective?"

Poised to answer, Sam was suddenly hushed by a wave of lightheadedness. His fingers went inexplicably numb, causing him to drop his glass of cranberry and club soda. It was a domino effect. The high ball glass shattered in a plume of red, its broken bits knocking over Mia's martini and a few empty bottles. Sam caught himself by bracing himself against the glass littered table. The shards bit painfully into his skin. The hand on his arm was too soft and dainty to be Dean's. He whisked off his sunglasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "M'sorry...I'm sorry," He said even as the room continued to spin. "I'm such a klutz."

His head marginally cleared, and he looked up to at the Mia and Toni. Their expressions of mild annoyance plummeted once they saw Sam without the sunglasses covering his shadowed, sunken eyes, dangerously pale skin and hallowed cheeks. Mia audibly gasped, averting her eyes. Toni's eyes flared but she tried to couch her expression by dashing hand over her mouth.

"Sam, are you all right?"

He shook the spilled gin off his arm, searching for an answer that wouldn't send them running for the men with the butterfly nets. They stared at him, unsure of what to say, but waiting for an explanation. The great dissembler groped for a plausible lie. "I'm okay. I'm just...um, sick, really sick."

"My aunt had the same thing," Mia chimed in, rubbing his arm. "It's cancer, right?"

"Uh…"

"You can tell us."

"Um, yeah...H-Hodgkin's lymphoma," he heard himself say with a nod, even though the illness felt like the opposite. Not a malignancy breaking him down, but a purity scrubbing him clean.

Brady's brother had contracted the same kind of cancer Sam's freshman year. To hear him tell it, the illness was a little more than an annoying disruption for the marathon-runner. Despite having a full head of hair, Sam probably looked worse than he did at the height of the disease. "It's treatable...but um,...it's tough. I'm-I'm out with my brother. I just want him to have fun tonight."

Toni threw a manicured hand over her heart. "That's so sweet of you, Sam. We can help you."

"Help me what?"

He'd expected pitying grimaces, hushed excuses, hasty exits but was blindsided with a spirited kindess Sam forgot existed. Toni beamed up at him, cleaning the liquor off his hands and righting the table. "We'll show your brother the time of his life."

"It's our specialty," Mia added with a sly smile. Her smile abruptly dropped.

Toni shook her head rapidly. "Not _that_ kind of specialty. I mean, we're not pro...fessionals or anything."

"No," Sam scoffed, smothering a smile. "I got it...She meant that you two are beautiful ladies with hearts of gold."

Dean looked fond and proud to discover that his little brother had picked up two women while he was in the john. He clapped him on the back and introduced himself with sly smile. "What are were guys talking about?"

"My cancer," Sam said taking a swig of his drink to hide his amused expression.

Dean choked on his, coughing loudly. Mia rubbed his arm. "It's okay. Sam told us and we're rooting for him. He looks good! He hasn't even lost his hair."

Dean shot Sam an amused grin. "I mean look at that mane. I never thought it'd go anywhere."

It only took ten minutes for Dean to slide out of the worried-sick big brother mode and into the shameless flirt he'd always been. Sam and Dean's hotly contested game of pool was abandoned for two-on-two pool that quickly dissolved into trick shots, and Mia continually requesting lessons or how to hold the cue.

Dean's smile was easy, the eyes sparkling the way they did when he truly let his guard down, and Sam watched him. The traitorous part him, the one that got its jollies when it twisted the knife a little deeper, wondered what Dean would be like without the hunt. Chef, mechanic, soldier, bartender, engineer-Dean probably could have done it all. And that was why Sam was fighting a staggeringly lofty battle they probably wouldn't win, so Dean would have a chance to hang up his guns and explore a normal life and career with its safety and knick knacks, friends and holidays.

Mia had her arm comfortably around Dean's waist as she tried to coax him to a nightclub in the city. The looseness in his shoulders tightened a few notches. Sam stood up. He clapped Dean on the shoulder. "I'm going to head out...I have...uh treatments tomorrow. But I'm sure you guys can keep the party goin' without me."

Dean's smile all but dropped. "You good, Sammy?"

Sam pinned him with a pointed gaze. "I'm fine," he said. _You deserve this. Have fun._

Mia hugged him as if he were delicate. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of your brother."

Toni grinned and nodded.

"Awesome. I'll see you all later. Thank you so much, ladies," he slapped two twenties on the bar. "Last round's on me."

The older Winchester couldn't help himself. "How are you gettin' home?"

"I'll cab it. 'Night Dean." He exited before Dean could protest.

Despite the chill that clung in the blanketed the night, the main street of the small town sparkled with energy from the throngs of patrons going into shops and leaving restaurants. Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and decided to walk a bit before hailing a cab. He felt better, stronger than he had in a long time. Maybe Dean's terrible remedies were working or maybe he was empowered by the light glimpsing out of the end of that tunnel. Sam couldn't pinpoint it and didn't care.

A honeyed voice called out to him and he turned around to find Toni standing on the street without her jacket. She crossed her arms over her loose sequined top that drooped off one shoulder, and stomped one foot that was secured in an expensive and equally bedazzled heel. "Toni, hi. What's up?"

Toni glanced away, revealing a cheek that was heavily splattered with freckles. She was beautiful and unique. She bit her lip, blushing a bit. "I think it's awesome...what you're doing for your brother. I mean here you are worrying about your brother when you're so sick..."

"Dean's done so much for me, ya know? I just want him to stop worrying for one night." Sam couldn't deny that the trials were taking a toll on Dean too. He slept less, drank more and stopped talking about anything other than Sam's health.

"He's playing beer pong with Mia right now, so I think he's dealin'."

A glance through the window showed Dean gamely chugging a mug of beer, foam dripping onto his shirt. Sam's spirit lifted at the sight. It was far better than any elixir or supplement or smoothie. "You're probably right."

"You're gonna get through this, Sam. I feel it," she pressed a business card into his hand. Her fingers brushing against his more than they needed to. "Call me whenever, okay?"

He studied the card intently-she was a designer of some kind- and surprised himself by smiling. "I will," he said.

She gave him another hug, her body pressed against his. Sam didn't know if it was pity or lust or sympathy, but he didn't care. The past months had been grueling, and he had forgotten that this was a part of life. That they smelled lovely and sweet and nothing felt better than their curves pretty against him. When Toni kissed his cheek, there was a spark, and flicker of electricity so wonderful, it unearthed a part of Sam that he'd long buried: the optimist, the happy-go-lucky college kid, the survivor.

Toni tucked in him into a cab, and he drifted the entire way back to the bunker, feeling better than he had in weeks.

-SPN-

With the bunker being secret and secluded, the taxi could only drop him some three miles away from home. Before the trials, it wouldn't have been more than a minor nuisance or an excuse for some exercise. He would have shrugged it off and ran home in less than a half an hour. Now, with the trials stripping him clean, the walk was grueling. By the first mile, he was sweaty, winded and woozy. By mile two, he was hacking blood into the moonlight leaves.

Sam collapsed before he hit mile three. There was no warning, the world simply snapped away and he plummeting along with it, bashing his face against an unforgiving clump of dirt. Sam blinked sluggishly at the grit in his eyes, seeing nothing but black marbled with moonlight. It took effort to pull himself to his feet and struggle, hunched over, into the bunker. He clung banister with both blood-slicked hands, trying to descend them without falling. But lately his body relished in betraying him. Chest aching, muscles seizing, Sam slumped at the bottom of the stairs, unable to go any further. Unconsciousness was a very near thing, but Sam out his head down and tried to breathe through it. He coughed so hard his eyes streamed, and there was a tearing in his chest. Blood splattered across the dark metal and the floor below like paint.

Sam thought of how awesomely the night had started and how reality had descended with the fury of a tornado. He was covered in grime, horking up bits of his lungs and barely able to handle a simple stroll without imploding.

How on earth would he handle the last trial?

There in the privacy of the hidden bunker, Sam Winchester threw his own pity party, sniffling and wheezing out the few dismal sobs that could escape the pressure in his chest.

Of course, that's when Dean rattled through the door, whistling.

The cause of Dean staggering down the stairs was far more debaucherous. Sam swiped at his eyes as inconspicuously as he could. Even so, he felt Dean's alarm as he spotted him at the foot of the stairs. His good mood and buzz dissolving under Sam's pall. "Sammy! You okay, did you fall?"

"No."

Dean sat beside him. The silence fell between them like a fog.

"I had to walk back from the highway," he said softly.

"It took a lot out of you, huh?"

"I fell coupla times." He admitted, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He was trying and failing not to feel like a five-year-old he needed his big brother to make it better.

Dean dropped beside him with a sigh. He was quiet for a long time. "The B12 shots, the remedies, they don't work ,do they?"

Sam scratched at the torn skin on his abrated palms. "I really did feel better today."

"Answer the question, Sam."

"No, not really. I thought they were."

Dean made a hissing noise, sucking air through his teeth. "And today, what were you tryin' to pull? Push yourself so far that you collapse?"

"Regardless of what happens, Dean, I made a promise to you. To show you how to live without the hunt. Today…was lesson number one: it's okay to have fun no matter what."

"No, no! Sam, we're not doing this." Dean barked. He swept a hand over his mouth and shook his head. His expression was hard when he regarded his brother again. "You made me a promise, too. You are going to live through this. We're doing this together."

Sam didn't have the strength for the brave face or the Winchester mantra. "I'm coughing more than I'm breathing. My skin hurts so much it burns. I can barely keep anything down most days. I'm _so tired_, Dean. I had every intention of sailing through this like the SATs, but I didn't know it was going to be _this_…tearing me down from the inside out."

"We never have committed to God's X-Games without knowing what the events were. That's on me. We'll find something that'll help until it's over. I'll do whatever it takes, Sammy."

"I'm not blaming you." Sam said softly.

"Let's get you cleaned up. Right now you smell worse than I do, and you don't want to know where I've been."

"Gross, Dean."

Dean stood and hefted Sam up with him. Sam let himself be tugged along, bolstered by his brother's strength. He let Dean help him change into his well-worn sweatpants and tee-shirt. Stress had chased away the carefree mirth from earlier in the evening, but Dean was still calm, reassuring Sam slipped into a feverish sleep, watching Dean clean his abrated palms.

He woke up hacking so hard his teeth rattled as something ruptured in his chest. Sam scrambled to the side of the bed as coughing turned to retching with a spasm of the gut and acidic burn. He didn't have to look in the bucket to know that the bile was swirling with blood. A hand settled on the back of his neck, and a soft towel wiped at his lips. "You're okay, Sammy. Hang on."

Sam slumped against the mattress and attempted to breath around the knot of pain in his chest. His heart hammered against it tortuously.

A cold, wet cloth folded over his forehead. He wasn't getting out of bed today.

"I got a lesson for you, brainiac." Dean said as he cleaned up the mess on the floor.

Sam glanced at him, eyebrows lifting. _What?_

"It's a tough one, man, you might not be ready for it."

"I'm game," he said voicelessly.

"That's m'boy," Dean said, patting his hip. "Lesson One For Little Brothers Who Feel Like Crap Thanks To God's Dumbass Trials is How To Binge-Watch TV Shows. I'm tellin' you, man, Netflix has everything. Pick a show, and we can watch an entire season."

Dean pushed him flat and tucked him in like they did when they were kids. "You just have to chill. No trials, no remedies, no destiny, no nothing."

Sam's throat hurt, his head pounded and he felt like some kind of breakdown mere inches away. Yet it was all made bearable when Dean bounced in the bed him, powering up the laptop. Grimacing, Sam pushed himself up to slump against the headboard. He settled next to his brother, who was all stubbled chin, mussed hair and bloodshot eyes, recognizing that Dean was the best remedy of them all.


End file.
